Anonymous Bride

by McDonough, Vickie;

  Turning over, she stared out the window, watching the sunset. A bird chirped in a nearby tree, trying to outdo the crickets in the grass below. She should probably put on her nightgown. All the stress of the contest and being around the other brides daily wore on her. Made her tired, even though she’d done very little work that day. Who would have thought idleness could exhaust a person?

  Maybe she should ask Mrs. Hamilton if there was some work she could do to pass the time. After working her fingers to the nubs at home, she had enjoyed having little to do, yet that was getting old. Maybe she didn’t mind working as long as she had a choice in the matter.

  The sun sank below the horizon, painting the undersides of the clouds a breath-stealing pinkish purple. A brisk wind snapped the white curtains like flags. She actually liked the wide-openness of Texas. Something about the place pulled at her, made her never want to leave. But if she lost the bride contest, she’d have to seek employment somewhere or return home—and that was something she was unwilling to do.

  Forcing herself up from the bed, she unfastened the buttons on her dress and let it drop to the floor. Miss Blackstone’s calculating stare entered her mind. The woman had a perpetual scowl and talked very little, yet she was quite pretty in an unfinished way. She tried to hide her roughness, but Leah saw right through her. If the lady could cook well, she would surely be her toughest competitor. Maybe it was time to look at her more closely.

  CHAPTER 21

  The night before the bride contest, Rachel sat in her bedroom, brushing her long hair for one hundred strokes. Jacqueline was in bed, but the girl fidgeted, unable to lie still. Something was bothering her, but she’d been tight-lipped and scarce the past few days.

  Rachel reached out to set her brush on the vanity when a shrill scream broke the silence. Jacqueline bolted up in bed as Rachel vaulted to her feet. Their gazes locked. “Stay here.”

  She grabbed the rifle that always sat behind the door and ran up the stairs. Miss O’Neil’s door opened, and bright light from her lantern flooded the hallway. Miss Bennett stood immobile at her door, her wide blue eyes gleaming in the light. Mr. Sanderson, a new guest in town with his wife for the contest, stood at the open door of the fourth bedroom, a pistol wobbling in his shaky hand. “What’s going on, Mrs. Hamilton?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but I’ll find out.”

  “Do you need my help?” The man lifted one brow.

  Rachel glanced at Miss Blackstone’s door. “Perhaps you could stay in your room and watch—just in case?”

  “This is highly irregular,” said Mrs. Sanderson. “Harvey, come back inside and shut the door. I’m sure Mrs. Hamilton can handle the disruption without your assistance.”

  He harrumphed but didn’t close the door. He winked at Rachel and motioned her forward with his gun just as another squeal erupted from Miss Blackstone’s room.

  Rachel hurried over and knocked on the door. “Is everything all right, Miss Blackstone?”

  “N–no, there’s a snake in here.” At the other bride’s declaration, Miss O’Neil scurried back into her room and slammed the door.

  Rachel opened Miss Blackstone’s door and peered around the room. How in the world could a snake have gotten up to the second story? A dim light from her lamp left the room in a contrast of light and shadows. Watching her step, Rachel crossed the room and turned up the flame. “Where did you last see it?”

  The woman who’d always seemed tough as overworked dough huddled in a tight ball on her bed, arms locked around her legs. “U–under the d–dresser.”

  “Do you know what kind of snake it is?”

  Miss Blackstone shook her head; a thick curtain of black hair fell around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, and her lips pressed tightly together.

  Rachel didn’t care for snakes, but she wasn’t frightened of them, except for the cottonmouths that sometimes frequented the river tributaries. Growing up in Texas and working in her ma’s garden, she’d seen her share of snakes. She lifted the lamp and stooped down. Sure enough, something was under the wooden chest of drawers. She used the muzzle of her rifle and flipped the intruder out onto the rug. Miss Blackstone screeched, making Rachel jump.

  “It’s just a harmless garden snake.”

  Miss Blackstone cowered on the bed. “I hate sn–snakes of all kinds. My brother used to torment me with them.”

  “I’m truly sorry for your discomfort. I can’t imagine how it got up here unless it somehow crawled into my laundry basket while I was gathering things off the line.” She picked up the harmless foot-long snake by the tail.

  Miss Blackstone squealed and dove under the covers. Rachel shook her head and left the room. “Please try to relax and get some rest. Tomorrow is a busy day.” Juggling the rifle and snake in one arm, she closed the door.

  Rachel glanced at the Sandersons’ door, and Mr. Sanderson lifted his brows. She held up the snake. “Nothing but a little intruder, sir. Nothing to be concerned with.”

  He nodded and closed the door.

  Miss Bennett leaned against the door frame of her room, her lip curling. “That’s what all the ruckus was about?”

  Rachel battled her grin. “I can’t imagine how it got up here.” “I didn’t think Miss Blackstone was afraid of anything. I mean, she seems so tough.”

  Rachel nodded. “I suppose there’s something that frightens each of us. Good night, Miss Bennett.”

  As Rachel plodded down the stairs, she considered what frightened her most—Luke marrying another woman. She tossed the snake outside and closed the front door. Suddenly, she realized that her daughter hadn’t made an appearance upstairs, and that was highly uncharacteristic of her.

  With suspicions mounting, Rachel hurried to their bedroom, but much to her relief, the girl was still in bed. Miracles happened after all.

  ***

  Jack’s heart pounded like she’d run all the way to the river and back. She’d barely made it back into bed when her mother closed the front door. Did she suspect her of putting the snake in Miss Blackstone’s room?

  Jack worked to slow her breathing, thinking of the open door to the pie safe. She’d hoped to stir something into the pies that would ruin them before they were cooked, but there’d been no opportunity. She might not get dessert for supper tomorrow if the mice invaded the pastries, but at least Luke couldn’t pick a bride if the pies weren’t edible. She grinned into her pillow, just imagining the howls of the brides when they saw their ruined entries.

  A tiny measure of guilt wafted through her, but she shoved it away. Luke was worth fighting for, no matter the cost or how many years she’d be punished and sent to her room if her mother learned what she’d done.

  She could hear her mother moving around the room, settling the rifle behind the door, and the click of the latch as the door closed. The double bed creaked and dipped on one side as her mother sat down. A sudden thought charged into Jack’s mind—if her mother married Luke, she would get a room of her own. She smiled and wondered which one she’d choose.

  Her mother heaved a big sigh and relaxed against the pillow, sending the odor of lavender her way. “Don’t you want to know what happened? I know you’re not asleep. And thank you for obeying me and staying in the room.”

  Jack cringed, knowing she’d done the opposite. Why did disobeying feel so awful?

  Turning onto her side, she stared at her mother’s face, illuminated by the faint moonlight shining through the open window. “Do you know what folks are calling those brides?”

  Her ma shook her head. “What’s that?”

  “Boardinghouse brides.” Jack flopped onto her back and stared at the dark ceiling. “Are you gonna let Marshal Davis marry one of them without so much as a fight?”

  Her mother’s heavy sigh warmed the side of her face and fluttered her hair. “There’s nothing I can do about the situation. Luke agreed to marry one of them.”

  Jack sat up, fighting back tears. “But you have to do something. I want him to be my p
a.”

  Rachel pulled her down into her arms, and Jack reveled in her ma’s softness and sweet scent. “Oh baby, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”

  “It didn’t matter until all those dumb brides showed up. I figured we could take our time, and eventually he’d fall in love with us.”

  Rachel tightened her grip. “I’m sure he loves you, honey. How could he not?”

  Jack wrapped her arm around her ma’s trim waist. “But I want him to love you, too.”

  Her ma smoothed Jack’s hair from her face. “Oh sweetie, you can’t force someone to love you. It has to come natural.”

  “But I heard that Luke used to love you—before you married my pa. Can’t you make him love you again?”

  ***

  Rachel winced as her daughter’s words pierced her heart. If only Jacqueline knew how badly she wanted Luke to love her. But she’d done all she knew how to get him to forgive her. She had to leave it in the Lord’s hands now.

  Tears burned her eyes and ran down her temples into her ears. If only there was something she could do.

  Jacqueline tugged away from her and sat up. “I have an idea.”

  Rachel wiped her eyes, hoping her daughter couldn’t see her tears. “What’s that?”

  Jacqueline clutched her hand. “Why don’t you enter the bride contest?”

  She opened her mouth, ready to give a dozen reasons why she couldn’t, but her voice refused to respond.

  “Really, Ma. Why don’tcha?”

  “Well, because it’s a contest just between the brides.”

  “But don’t you care for Luke?”

  Rachel nodded, unable to deny the truth. Somewhere over the past few weeks, her love for him had rekindled and flamed to life like a rampant prairie fire. “Yes, I do, but—”

  “No buts. You have to enter that contest.”

  “I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the brides.”

  Jacqueline shook her arm, her voice sounding frantic. “If you love him, you have to. Otherwise, we’re going to lose him.”

  Rachel considered the wisdom of her daughter’s words. It was true. If she passively did nothing, Luke would choose one of the brides and marry, leaving her to endure the rest of her life alone and filled with regrets. Still, if by chance he did pick her, all the brides would be left unmarried. How could she do that to them? “I don’t think it’s fair for me to enter. Luke already knows me, and that might sway his choice.”

  “Well, enter anan ... anon—what’s that called?”

  “Anonymously?”

  “Yeah! That.”

  Rachel sat up, her heart taking off like a caged bird finally set free. Could she do it? Enter the contest anonymously? At some point she’d have to admit the pie was hers, but maybe, just maybe in the meantime, Luke would realize how much she still loved him. Excitement drove away her sadness. Maybe she still had a chance. Grinning, she pulled her daughter into a warm hug. “I think that’s a brilliant idea, sweetie. But it will be a secret, and we can’t tell a soul.”

  “My lips are locked shut.” In the moonlight, Jack twisted her hand in front of her mouth as if turning a key in a lock. She bounced on the bed, grabbing Rachel’s shoulders. “Oh Ma, this will be such fun. The whole town will be wondering who the pie is from.”

  Rachel laid back down, smiling to herself. Why hadn’t she thought of the idea? Maybe because she was too busy mourning her loss of Luke. Oh, please, Lord, let this work. Help me to win back Luke’s heart.

  She turned onto her side, thinking of all the pies she’d served Luke since he returned. To make things fair, she needed to bake a different pie—something he wouldn’t recognize as hers. Jacqueline fidgeted for a while; then her breathing deepened as sleep claimed her. But Rachel’s mind raced. She had to find a special pie to woo the man she loved.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Marshal, they’re ready for you to come and judge the pie contest.” Mayor Burke stood inside the jail door, all but bouncing. He grinned. “And there’s a big surprise for you.”

  Luke stood, dreading the task ahead. If he chose a winner, the losers would be disappointed, but then contests were always like that. They just didn’t normally have your whole future riding on them.

  He followed the mayor outside, where a crowd filled the street and boardwalks. His cousins had rigged up a table in front of the freight office, and Rachel and the ladies had decorated it with a white tablecloth, ribbons, bows, and other frippery. Atop it sat not three pies, but four.

  “How in the world could something like this happen?” Luke’s gaze swerved toward the mayor, who stood to the left of the table.

  The man grinned and shrugged. “Nobody seems to know. One minute it wasn’t there, and the next it was.”

  Luke lifted his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and slapped the hat back down. Picking a wife by sampling three pies was enough of a chore, but now there were four—the last, a golden colored one that looked like a custard pie, with a sign beside it reading ANONYMOUS ENTRY. The fragrant scent of the pies made Luke’s mouth water. But warning bells clanged in his head. That pie could be from any unmarried woman for miles around.

  “Hey, Marshal, how’s it feel to have all them gals wantin’ to marry up w’ya? Maybe some of us bachelors could have the leftovers.” Dan Howard laughed, and the crowd filling Main Street joined in.

  “Yeah, Marshal, share the wealth,” someone cried.

  Luke shook his head at their good-natured teasing but focused a glare on Garrett. None of this would have happened if not for him. “Are you sure no new brides have come to town?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Garrett answered.

  Standing beside his brother and the mayor on the left side of the table, Mark also shook his head and shrugged one shoulder.

  Luke scanned the crowd for Rachel. She could confirm if another bride had arrived in town, but he didn’t find her. He could hardly blame her for not attending the contest, considering their past and how she’d begged him for forgiveness. He studied the ruffled edge of the tablecloth covering the pie table and sighed. He couldn’t give her something he didn’t have. So why did he feel guilty about the whole situation?

  “This is outrageous.” Miss Bennett, standing to the right of the table with the other brides, stomped her foot and hoisted her chin in the air. “That last pie ought’a be tossed out.”

  With her hands planted on her hips, Miss Blackstone stepped forward. “Yeah, I thought this contest was just between us three.”

  Miss O’Neil fiddled with her sleeve, her eyes looking as wide as dinner plates.

  Luke pinned his stare on the brides. “Has someone new moved into the boardinghouse? Another bride, I mean.”

  All three gals shook their heads in unison—blond, brunette, and redhead. They would certainly know if another husband-seeker had come to town.

  He studied the table holding the contest entries. Each one had a label made from a folded paper, and they read Bride #1, Bride #2, Bride #3, and Anonymous Entry, but the last sign was in a different handwriting than the others. The four pies sat, begging to be cut, although one of them looked a bit charred, and two had notches out of them that looked as if a varmint had feasted on them. The pie from the anonymous bride was by far the best looking. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he’d been so nervous this morning he’d skipped breakfast.

  His gaze wandered back to the fourth pie. What if it tasted the best? If he chose that one as the winner, he might well end up marrying Bertha Boyd. A shiver snaked down his spine, and he scanned the crowd to see if she was there. Sure enough, the wagon-sized woman sat on a sagging bench on the boardwalk across the street, fanning herself with one of those cardboard advertisements on a stick that a mortuary office from a neighboring town had handed out. The crowd in the street in front of the freight office, watching and waiting to help judge the event, had tripled in size from what it had been earlier.

  Max crept up beside Luke and licked his hand then trotte
d back into the jailhouse. The dog hated crowds, probably because most of the “kindly” townsfolk had chased him away from their trash heaps at one time or another. Luke wished he could hide out like his dog, but he straightened his shoulders and turned back to the mayor. “What do you make of this additional entry?”

  The mayor sucked in his overly large belly and grinned. “I haven’t a clue, but it will make a great headline: ANONYMOUS BRIDE COMPETES FOR MARSHAL’S HAND IN MARRIAGE.” He chuckled and shook his head then scanned the crowd. “Where’s that newspaper woman? Someone get Jenny up here,” he yelled, “and tell her to bring her photographic equipment.”

  “I’m here, Mayor.” Jenny Evans peeked her head between two beefy men. “Let me through, you big belugas.”

  Both men turned sideways, looking as if they were trying to figure out if she’d called them an offensive name, and Jenny shot through the opening carrying her big camera. Jack followed right on her tail with her arms filled with photographic plates. Jenny was one gutsy lady to entrust Rachel’s daughter with something so fragile.

  “You brides line up behind the pie you made.” Jenny set down the long legs of the tripod and arranged them the way she wanted, then set the boxy camera on top. Jack handed her a film plate, and Jenny inserted it. “All right, ladies, look up here. Hold your expressions steady.”

  Luke was amazed the three mail-order brides did as ordered without complaint, although Miss Blackstone hung back a bit, as if she didn’t like being photographed. He now knew who made which pie. Not that it mattered, because he didn’t favor one gal over the other, except he maybe liked Miss O’Neil the least because she was so skittish. She was a lovely thing with that mass of copper hair and intriguing accent, but she didn’t have what it took to live in Texas.

  That would have left two brides to pick from if not for the anonymous entry. He searched his mind, trying to figure out who might have made it. There weren’t many marriageable women in Lookout, which was why his cousins had concocted this whole scheme. But someone from another town might have read of the event and entered, or someone from a family he hadn’t yet met.